


Not a Fool (For Sure)

by gardakuka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Denial, F/M, Post-Canon, SanSan Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardakuka/pseuds/gardakuka
Summary: Sandor Clegane wasn't a fool. Or a knight. But it didn't matter, he wasn't a fool and he tried to hide all those stupid feelings he had for a beautiful lady of Winterfell. He didn't have those stupid feelings anyway, it was just some trick from the Old Gods. They were too powerful here in the North.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 73





	Not a Fool (For Sure)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zip001](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zip001/gifts).



> Post-book canon AU, (almost) everyone lives, Sandor is in a big denial. If he ignores it, maybe it will go away.
> 
> A Secret Santa present for Zip001! Hope you will enjoy this little story! :)

Sandor wasn’t a fool.

He was a grown-ass man, a warrior, a killer, a sworn shield to the Lord of Winterfell. And most importantly, he wasn’t a knight. Those pompous and dumb shits were fools, each one of them, and Sandor was glad he ended up in the North. A place free of knights was the most perfect place in the whole Westeros, and Sandor honestly enjoyed every second of his new life in Winterfell. Aye, he enjoyed it because it was free of those fools. It had nothing to do with his charge’s sister.

He came to Winterfell as Sansa Stark’s humble bodyguard and somehow ended up swearing his life and protection to her brother. The one who was wild as Stranger when he was a sneaky colt. Her other brother, the one who was able to _see things_ , said he didn’t need a sworn shield. And he passed the title of the Lord to his youngest sibling, who spurned the stone flooring of the Great Hall at the announcement. He wasn’t amused at all and asked if he could have Sandor to guard him instead of his sister straight away.

And so Sandor stayed in Winterfell and got another unruly boy as his charge. Not that he was _complaining_ , maybe Rickon Stark was acting like a wildling when he felt like one, which was quite often, but even then he was a way better charge than Joffrey. There was no reason for Sandor to complain about the way his life had turned, but still.

It wasn’t what he _wanted_. Too bad that his wishes contained one particular Lady of Winterfell and one particular stupid ceremony under that stupid tree his charge liked to play around a lot. He would take Sandor with him and run around with that black beast of his, pretending he was a wildling once again. There was no place for Sandor in his games, so he started to spend that time staring at the stupid tree and imagining himself standing under it with a huge woollen cloak on his shoulders. The one which had three dogs on it and was carefully hidden in one of his chests. He wasn’t a fool who made a wedding cloak in a futile hope that the woman from his dreams would agree to become his wife. He brought it with the rest of his possessions the last time he visited the Keep he was born and grew up in. Sandor was told his mother made it as soon as she recovered from his difficult birth. It would be unseemly to leave it in the Keep for a new stupid lordling to throw it away. Not that Sandor was looking forward to using it in his nearest future.

He wasn’t a fool, after all.

And still. The stupid tree with its stupid red leaves was messing with his mind every time Sandor found himself in the Godswood. Sansa once told him that that place was full of some ancient magic. Her brother, Bran, said that the Old Gods were always present there. Sandor hoped none of those bloody bastards managed to wriggle their way into his mind and toy with it, but there was no other explanation for the amount of thoughts he had about Sansa and him wearing his wedding cloak. And Sansa _in_ his wedding cloak. And Sansa in his wedding cloak with no other pieces of clothing _underneath_. It had to be those bloody Gods, Sandor was sure.

He wasn’t a fool who would spend his more or less free time thinking about his new Lord’s sister and imagining her as his wife.

Alright, he was used to those thoughts before, when he was a dog and _maybe_ a fool, he spent hours pining after the King’s betrothed, drinking himself to death and imagining how he would take her away and give her his stupid cloak. It didn’t matter that it was hidden somewhere in the Keep his brother had under his control, Sandor still had that cloak in his thoughts. He was lusting after the King’s betrothed, too, but again, he was just a stupid dog back then. And his charge was a little shit who didn’t care about the well-being of his betrothed, so Sandor knew it was fine to have all those thoughts about Sansa Stark. Not that any of them could become reality.

_Now_ everything was different and Sandor had to hide his thoughts in the darkest corner of his mind. And lock them in an imaginary chest. And throw an imaginary key into an imaginary ocean. Just in case. Sandor wasn’t a fool, after all.

She was a lady now. A stunning, infatuating, disastrous, breathtaking, mind-blowing, tempting, sweet, and beautiful lady. She said to her brothers that she wanted to stay in Winterfell as long as it was possible and pleaded with them not to wed her to any of those noble lordlings and knights. At least for a time being. She said she needed some time after all those disastrous betrothals she had, and her brothers agreed with her. She smiled at them when Bran gave his permission for her to stay unwed, and then she turned to Sandor for a second and her smile became a little bit shy. In his imagination, for sure.

Sandor wasn’t a fool, he knew it was his stupid imagination. The one which was ruined by the Old Gods. He wasn’t a knight in some shining armour lady Sansa always dreamt about, he knew she was dreaming about them even now. She heard her talking to her sister once, when Arya was visiting her family in Winterfell. Sansa’s voice was full of delight and she blabbered something about some sort of a handsome sod in that bloody armour to her sister. Sandor didn’t know what they were talking about, he simply caught that stupid sentence, and somehow he even managed to become angry. He hoped that lady Sansa was able to grow up and understand that all those stupid songs and dreams were futile and only created problems in her life. He was sure she understood it when stole her from her last captor and even helped her to kill him.

But no, she was talking to her sister about those buggering knights again. She was so naive it hurt. And made Sandor think about her even more. Too bad he wasn’t a knight, nor did he have a shining armour. He was wearing one when he came to the Vale, the one he received from the Elder Brother, who planned that Sandor could take a part in the tourney. He threw it away as soon as he and Sansa reached Winterfell. Alright, he didn’t throw it away, he simply put it in a storeroom where the new castellan was keeping various rubbish. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t a knight anyway.

She used to talk to him in that dreamy voice once. They were travelling to Winterfell, and somehow Sansa decided that they had to talk before falling asleep. Not that Sandor was complaining, but listening to her chirping voice was a torture. For someone whose last encounter with him included a knife and a lot of threatening, she looked too happy to travel with him. Sandor hoped that the time he spent among the silent brothers was able to ease that shame he felt every time while thinking about the night lady Sansa sang for him, but that harrowing feeling was back. She was talking to him about everything she came up with in that dreamy voice of hers, and Sandor’s chest was burning. It was because of that shame, he knew it. He even pleaded for forgiveness one night, and Sansa looked at him with a sheer surprise in her huge tempting eyes. Then she blushed and said that everything was fine. Then she added that she was thinking about that night a lot and blushed even more. There was no reason for her to blush like that, she wasn’t the one who was ashamed of their deeds. But she blushed anyway, a naive soul she was.

When they arrived at Winterfell, she became too shy to spend her time with him. She was approaching him from time to time on some different occasions. She even joined him and her brother for some of their strolls. She didn’t talk too much, listening to the new Lord’s happy chattering, and walked right next to Sandor. As if she came to that stroll to spend her time with _him_ , and not with her brother. Sandor would like that very much, but he wasn’t a fool.

  
Rickon once asked him after one of those strolls if Sandor was going to announce the betrothal between himself and Sansa soon. Sandor wanted to call him a little fool, but Rickon was the Lord of Winterfell. It wasn’t wise to call him names, so he simply said that it was time for Rickon to eat his dinner and go to sleep. Rickon pointed out that Sandor _stole_ his sister from the Vale and was stupid not to marry her after that. He was the Lord, it was fine for him to call Sandor _names_.

He went to Bran and told on his little brother. After all, Bran Stark was the only person who was able to restrain Rickon by simply talking to him. Bran Stark didn’t look surprised when Sandor told him about their Lord acting like a wildling and talking like a wildling, he stared at Sandor and cocked his head a little bit. And then he _smiled_ , saying that sometimes little Rickon was wiser than some _grown-ass men_ , and Sandor ground his teeth. It had to be some sort of a joke between two brothers. He wasn't a fool.

At least there was Arya, who never spoke to him about Sansa. She rarely spoke to him during her short visits anyway, and Sandor was grateful for it. And she never told anyone that he was longing and lusting after her sister all those years ago. Sandor was sure something had to escape his lips during their travel, something that could mess his whole stay in Winterfell. But Arya was quiet, and Sandor was _really_ grateful for it.

He put the chest where his wedding cloak was hidden in the farthest corner of his room. He took it out from time to time, hoping he wasn’t turning into a fool. Of course he wasn’t, he still was just a mere sworn shield, not a knight. And he never spoke about whatever was going on in his head and his chest to Sansa, so everything was alright. He was alright. His dirty little secret was alright. Even his thoughts were alright, apart from those where he was taking Sansa’s maidenhead right on his wedding cloak, but there was no way anyone could read his mind. He hoped Bran Stark’s strange abilities prevented him from reading someone else’s minds.

He really enjoyed his new life.

Until the day he returned to his rooms to change his tunic after a very productive training with the young recruits and found lady Sansa standing there in front of a huge mirror he had in the corner. It wasn’t even _his_ mirror, it was hanging on the wall and Sandor rarely used it apart from a quick check of his clothes before storming out in the morning. Pretty lady Sansa was standing there and she was so busy looking at her reflection, she didn’t even notice her presence. She had a warm smile playing on her lips, and his woollen cloak on her shoulders. She was observing herself and humming something quietly, and Sandor knew she liked what she saw there. She liked his wedding cloak. She liked wearing his bloody wedding cloak. Did those Old Gods mess up her mind too? It had to be the reason she looked so happy and even gently caressed the soft material with her slender fingers. And then she buried her face into it, and Sandor knew he had to interfere.

He kept looking instead. He knew in a minute he would step back and close the door so he could return with a loud sound, so lady Sansa could have a moment to put his cloak back into the chest where it belonged. He knew she would smile at him and say that she was in his room because she stepped forward and decided to help the local washerwomen to bring Sandor’s clothes into his room, he noticed a huge pile of fresh clothes on his bed. He knew she would smile and leave, running away with that fierce blush on her pretty face.

  
He knew he would have to sit down and try to find that imaginary ocean where he threw that imaginary key from that imaginary chest, where his _feelings_ were locked. He needed them before going to her brothers and talking about a possibility of a betrothal between himself and Sansa. He could even say something about the Old Gods who were the ones to blame for his sudden request. After all, no one would say a word if it was about the _Gods_ and their doings.

But before all of that, he simply kept looking at the beautiful lady Sansa Stark in his cloak in front of him. He terribly needed to burn that image into his memory, at least before he would get a real thing. He hoped he would. Maybe he wasn’t a knight, and that stupid armour of his had already become rusty after being locked with the rest of the rubbish, but Sansa Stark folded his wedding cloak about herself and clearly _cared_ for him, and it meant he was much better than all those stupid sods.

Even if it meant he was a fool.

Sandor didn’t mind.


End file.
